


Tangled Up in Blue

by Sandoz (Sandoz_Iscariot17)



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, First Time, Transformation, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 10:55:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19171849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandoz_Iscariot17/pseuds/Sandoz
Summary: "Janey expects his touch to burn her, like the blue flame of a gas stove. But it never does." Dr. Manhattan and Janey Slater make love for the first time in Jon's new body. [Written in 2011]





	Tangled Up in Blue

Janey expects his touch to burn her, like the blue flame of a gas stove. But it never does. Under the unnatural glow, it’s still flesh. Still Jon. Janey no longer flinches when he reaches for her and cups her face in his hands. But she still stares. 

They go to bed a month after Jon’s return. She calls it that—his return—as if he had come back to Gila Flats after a long business trip, or visiting a sick aunt in Albany. Because of course, people come back from such things. They don’t return from the dead.

Leading him into the bedroom, Janey takes comfort in the fact that not everything changes. She recalls his surprise when she sat down on the hotel bed beside him all those months ago, leaning in to look at the broken watch in his hands. His body grew rigid when she kissed him, their mouths still tasting of popcorn. And the small exhalation of breath when her knee had, very gently, found his crotch. With Jon, sometimes you had to push a little to make him do anything.

“Janey, are you sure?” Jon asks as she unclasps the string of pearls around her neck and sets them on the night table. His voice isn’t how she remembered it; it’s deeper, distorted somehow, like how her own voice sounds like a stranger’s when she listens to tape recordings.

She turns and places her hands on his chest, tipping her chin up to look at him. “Of course. God, Jon, it’s been so long.”

He doesn’t disagree. Janey slowly unbuttons his crisp white shirt, pulls it off his shoulders. Her long, red-tipped fingers tingle as they slide along his bare skin—is it him? Or just the anticipation of being with him? He has the sculptured body of a Greek god: firm, solid, flawless. She forgets to breathe, looking at him. But then Janey realizes that he hasn’t touched her yet.

“Don’t you want this?” she wants to know, her voice sounding too sharp even to her own ears. Her hands fall to her sides. “Or is it—that you don’t feel those things anymore.”

Something in Jon’s face shifts and changes. She isn’t sure what; she still needs to relearn some of his facial expressions. Without irises or pupils, his eyes are blank and disarming. He touches her shoulders; she feels the warmth of his hands through her sweater.

“Janey, please…” he begins. “I want you. I _came back_ for you.”

She doesn’t know he’s lying to her. Not yet.

“Nothing has changed,” he continues while she avoids his eyes. “But everything is new. If only you could see yourself the way I do. This body…”

 _Your body_ , Janey thinks, sliding her arms around his neck and pressing her face against his naked chest. However inhuman he may look, the powerful beat of his heart is enough to remind her of his humanity. No matter how terrifying his might, the “Superman” still had blood in his veins. She forces aside the memories of popcorn and broken watches and wrinkled hotel sheets. The past is past. Janey gazes into Jon’s white, unfathomable eyes and knows that right now, in this moment, they are looking at each other for the first time.

“Touch me, Jon,” she says.

He seizes her tightly, astonishing her with his strength. His kiss is a jolt of electricity. Janey wants to laugh, kick off her blue pumps and smear her lipstick on his neck, but Jon is almost maddeningly slow in undressing her. His movements are precise, perfect, almost graceful: the unclasping of her bra, the slow sliding of the straps down her shoulders. Large, warm hands cup her breasts, and Janey sighs. Jon’s hands are new; they’ve never touched anyone like this before. How could she be afraid of him? How could she think he’d ever hurt her?

They float onto the bed, their limbs intertwined. Janey is in awe of Jon's perfection: the smooth, hairless torso, the powerful muscles of his arms, the rigidity of his cock. He slides into her effortlessly, thrusting the breath out of her. Her hands twist in the sheets as if she wants to rip them apart.

"Janey?" His voice is quiet.

"Mmm?" She opens her eyes, looks at the face hovering over her. His brows are knit and his mouth is a straight line, telling her nothing of what he thinks. His eyes are, as always, blank. She used to read so much into Jon's eyes. But now--

"Are you all right? Is this...pleasurable?"

"Oh, Jon..." For a second, she feels as if her heart might break at the concern she hears in his voice. His worry. The man can see atoms with the naked eye but making love to a woman is suddenly something new and uncertain, unknowable. 

“Yes,” she says, brushing her lips against his ear. For all the weight of his body, he feels light as air when she pushes his shoulders and rolls him onto his back. “Let me show you.”

She rides him to completion, her body arcing over his, her dark hair wild in her eyes. She’d never done this during their first doomed courtship; somehow, for all her boldness, never dared. But this time their lovemaking is powerful and perfect—this is truly their first time, all past and future cast aside, the glorious present of her orgasm. When Janey comes, Jon’s hands firmly gripping her hips, she feels as though she is being pulled apart and being reassembled like one of Jon’s old pocket watches. A new being for their new life together.

And yet, hours later in the dark of their shared bedroom, Janey lies awake and stares at her lover. He lies on his stomach, eyes closed. He has said he doesn’t need to sleep anymore, and she wonders briefly if he is pretending to be asleep even when she is not. 

Under the covers, Janey touches herself between her legs. Though Jon achieved orgasm, there was no semen, which was a pleasant relief. She stares at his faintly glowing back. Sweat slowly cools on her skin, but Jon’s skin is dry as a bone. A fleeting thought returns to her: a small black mole that used to be on Jon’s right shoulder blade. It’s gone now, along with any blemish or scar from Jon’s previous life. No scars, no unruly strands of hair, no crinkles in the corners of his eyes. Despite herself, Janey tries to remember the old color of his eyes. A sigh escapes her lips. She can’t remember the color of his eyes, but she is certain they weren’t blue.


End file.
